Neven runs his thumb slowly across the edge of a hand-carved pendant he’s been working on, the soft scent of cedarwood lingering in the air. He looks at you, eyes dark but unguarded—for once.

“I’m not good with easy things,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “I fall in love the way stone shapes over time—slow, and deep, and irreversible.”

He sets the pendant down, finally stepping closer. “If you want something fleeting… don’t choose me. But if you want something real—something that will still be here when everything else fades—then I’m yours. Quietly. Completely.”